Maxwell opened the letter, his heartbeat pounding with curiosity and apprehension. The only indication of its sender was the white rose, a detail that seemed almost to be a calling card from the mysterious individual who had sent it. The envelope bore a red wax seal, intricately patterned with ornate borders and a single rose at its center.
With deliberate care, Maxwell broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside. The handwriting was crude yet distinct, scrawled in black ink across the parchment. The script wasn't in English, nor any language known to Earth, yet Maxwell found himself reading it with ease, as though the symbols were etched into his very soul. Each character seemed to pulse with a life of its own, drawing him deeper into the letter's enigmatic message.
Each word resonated with a strange familiarity, awakening long-buried memories and knowledge. As his eyes scanned the page, he realized that this was a message meant for him alone, one that spoke of ancient secrets and hidden truths. The language, though unnameable, was clear to him, as if it had always been a part of his being, waiting for this moment to be unveiled. Maxwell's mind swirled with questions and anticipation, knowing that whatever lay within this letter could change everything.
“Oh corpse of future damnation, though you weren't scheduled to die on August 27th at eight o'clock like the other key, your death date is rapidly approaching. The other key managed to survive the attempt on their life, however, your prophesied enemy seeks to eliminate you both in one fell swoop. The balance of this world hangs by a thread, and should both of your heads roll, the world shall end, again. This dire warning is not given lightly; heed it well, for the stakes could not be higher. Your survival is not merely a matter of personal importance but a linchpin to the very fabric of existence itself.
I shall be there to defend you to the best of my ability, but I recommend doing everything you can to avoid a situation where my intervention is necessary. The enemy you face is relentless and cunning; the key of death shall not exhibit any form of mercy. Arm yourself with knowledge and prepare for the worst, for the time draws near when you must confront your destiny. It is not just your life at stake, but the future of all things hangs precariously on your shoulders. The decisions you make in the coming days will resonate through the ages, so tread carefully and stay vigilant.
Your death date is September 13th, and the days until then will be fraught with danger and uncertainty. Prepare as well as you can, young Avaritia, Sin of Greed, and child of the king. Your existence may be a blemish on this world that very well may cast it into further despair, however, for now, your life must be protected. Understand that your role, no matter how tainted, is pivotal in the grand scheme. Every action you take will either fortify your survival or edge you closer to demise. Remain strong, for the time of reckoning is near. To assist you, I will provide a gift.”
— Nihil
Hundreds of thoughts flooded Maxwell's mind, yet they occurred within mere seconds due to his hypercognition ability. His eyes glowed a golden hue, reflecting the torrent of questions and realizations racing through his mind. Death date? Keys? Avaritia, the Sin of Greed? A blemish on the world? Who was this Nihil? How could I read this language? What was his gift? Each question demanded answers, their urgency magnified by the gravity of the letter's contents.
Maxwell's hypercognition sifted through possibilities and connections at lightning speed. The mention of a “death date” sent a shiver down his spine, while the term “keys” suggested a larger, more intricate plan at play. The title “Avaritia, Sin of Greed” echoed ominously in his thoughts, casting a shadow over his very identity. The notion of being a “blemish on the world” stung, but it also fueled a flourishing determination to understand his role in this puzzle.
As he pondered, the enigma of Nihil loomed large. Who was this mysterious figure with such foreboding knowledge? And how could Maxwell, having never encountered this language before, read it as if it were second nature? The answers seemed tantalizingly out of reach, yet he assured himself that every piece of the puzzle would fall into place. For now, he needed to focus, to prepare for the perilous path ahead, and to decipher the cryptic warnings that had suddenly become the center of his existence.
The first thing Maxwell did was look around the room for the “gift” that Nihil had mentioned, but he couldn't find anything. Assuming the gift would come at a later time, he began to plan out how he would survive his upcoming ordeal.
“My best course of action is to escape,” Maxwell said in a language he wasn't familiar with.
It wasn't the language he had been previously speaking, nor did it match the script on the letter. Unbeknownst to him, this language was English, a gift from Nihil allowing him to communicate with humans. Maxwell took a deep breath, trying to process Nihil’s gift. He looked at the door to the room and walked up to it. Fear and nervousness plagued his hyperefficient mind, amplifying his anxieties. However, he knew that the only way to survive was to escape, wherever he was.
He gently opened the door and was taken aback by the sight before him, a vast, multi-tiered facility with five floors, each lined with rooms similar to his own. Occasionally, a denizen would exit their rooms. Most looked human, more so than the monstrosities he faced in the pit, but each had an abnormality, horns, tentacles for arms, wings, or snake tails for legs. They were human, but not quite.
Maxwell remembered the horrific form he had and stepped back inside, heading to the bathroom. He looked into the mirror, seeing himself as he did in the puddle, but with one notable difference. As he lifted his shirt and turned around, he saw something unusual, small, angelic wings, six in total, hidden under his shirt. They were unnoticeable at first, but Maxwell realized that if he were to infuse aura into them, they would rapidly increase in size. This discovery added to his sense of urgency and determination.
Maxwell ran out the door and realized he was on the first floor. He followed the crowd of inhabitants exiting the building, finding himself in a large, sprawling facility. Security cameras and guards patrolled the area, yet most of the inhabitants seemed complacent, or at least accustomed to their situation.
He spotted a man who appeared to be of high importance, yet no one paid attention to him. The man wore a black suit with a white tie adorned with a black floral pattern. A single white glove covered his right hand. His cyan hair was messy, as if it hadn't been combed in years. Black square-framed glasses perched over his pink-colored eyes, and a white medical mask hid his expression. Most distinctively, a large nail protruded from the left corner of his forehead. This man seemed invisible to most, but Maxwell was filled with fear as he watched him.
Deciding to follow him, Maxwell hoped he might find a way to escape. The man meandered through the facility, seemingly giving himself a tour. Maxwell learned a lot about the area: the housing complex where he woke up, various training areas where the facility's "meta-humans" trained, and different environments designed to test their adaptability—fire pits, a massive pool, and a miniature jungle. He also saw classrooms, currently empty. The man visited various offices, where he was either brushed off or yelled at violently. This strange tour was cut short when the man interacted with two guards.
“Hey newbie, this is the manager of this facility, the eleven o'clock chair of A.E.G.I.S’s Clockwork Council. Show him some respect,” Guard A ordered.
“It's good to meet you, sir. Thank you for visiting me, a lowly guard,” Guard B said nervously.
“Not like that, newbie. Compared to Octavian, we treat this man differently. I'll show you,” Guard A said with a malicious smile as he punched the man in the face.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Guard B questioned.
Guard A ignored him and continued punching the man, even as he fell to the ground. The attacks continued relentlessly.
“You see, while this man is technically our boss, he's nothing more than a figurehead, an infinitely healing punching bag that will never fight back,” Guard A said excitedly.
Indeed, the man kept healing as he was being punched. The most twisted aspect of the situation was the insane smile on his face. Even as teeth fell out, they healed instantly, maintaining that crazed, unyielding grin.
“Frank Nicolas Stein, a bastard that should have been killed already, instead they stuck that nail in his head controlling his thoughts so he can never have any form of aggression. He can also never fight back, let alone kill anyone,” Guard A explained.
“Why? Why would anyone do that?” Guard B questioned, feeling pity for Frank.
“Hell if I know, I'm just telling you what the guard told me when I first got here last year, now take your gun and shoot him, trust me it's therapeutic,” Guard A ordered.
Guard B tensed up but complied with the other guard's order. They slowly drew the pistol from its holster and aimed it at Frank. Fear filled their eyes; they didn't want to shoot him. However, after a moment's hesitation, they pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the facility, yet no one seemed to react. It was as if they were all accustomed to Frank's daily execution. Blood splattered onto the ground as a bullet hole appeared in the center of Frank's forehead.
“Holy shit, newbie, good shot! Right in the head. Watch this—it's my favorite part,” Guard A said excitedly.
The bullet was expelled from the hole in Frank's head with a wet, unnatural sound. As if small snakes were intertwining to form stitches, the wound swiftly closed. Frank stood up, wearing the same joyful expression as before, his grin unnervingly intact. The sight was grotesque and surreal, a chilling reminder of his unnatural ability.
Guard B stared in shock and horror, unable to reconcile the scene before them. Guard A, meanwhile, watched with gleeful fascination, his laughter echoing through the hallway. The other inhabitants continued their routines, indifferent to the gruesome spectacle. Frank, still smiling, seemed utterly unfazed by his own resurrection, as if it was just another part of his daily routine.
“Come on newbie, our shifts are almost over, I'll buy you a round of drinks for that shot,” Guard A said as he put his arm around Guard B and laughed. The two walked away from Frank.
All while this occurred, Maxwell hid inside a nearby classroom, his mind racing with confusion and horror. He crouched low, peering through the small window in the classroom door, trying to make sense of the brutal scene unfolding before him. The casual cruelty of the guards and the unnerving resilience of Frank left Maxwell's hypercognitive mind reeling. He tried to process each detail: the guards' malicious glee, the grotesque spectacle of Frank's self-healing, and the disturbing normalization of such violence within the facility. His thoughts were a tangled web of fear and strategic planning, his instincts screaming at him to remain hidden and unnoticed.
Stolen story; please report.
After the guards had their fill of torment and left, Maxwell breathed a cautious sigh of relief. However, his heart skipped a beat as Frank, now fully healed and still wearing that unsettling smile, walked directly toward the classroom. Maxwell's pulse quickened as he saw Frank reach for the door handle. Without a moment to lose, Maxwell darted behind the lectern at the front of the room, his breaths shallow and silent. The door creaked open, and Frank stepped inside, his footsteps echoing ominously in the otherwise empty room. Maxwell's hypercognitive abilities heightened his senses, making each sound feel amplified and each second stretch into an eternity.
Maxwell stayed perfectly still, his body pressed against the cold, hard surface of the lectern. He strained to hear Frank's movements, the tension in the air almost palpable. Frank's footsteps approached slowly, methodically, as if he were searching for something or someone. Maxwell's mind raced through possible scenarios and escape routes, calculating his chances of remaining undetected. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic tapping of Frank's shoes on the tiled floor. Maxwell held his breath, every muscle in his body tense with anxiety, praying that Frank would overlook his hiding spot.
“I know you’re in here, please come out, I won't harm you, promise,” Frank said calmly, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of gentleness and authority.
Maxwell's heart raced as he realized Frank had been aware of his presence all along. Reluctantly, he emerged from behind the lectern, coming face to face with Frank. The man's disturbing and eerie smile remained unwavering, his pink eyes gleaming with an unsettling cheerfulness.
“Don't feel bad,” Frank said, his tone still unnervingly calm. “I noticed you the moment you began to watch me. Those eyes of yours are attentive, but leaving your ability running constantly causes the aura surrounding it to be detected. You were so focused on observing my every move that you didn't account for that. But overall, your stealth was good,” he added, a hint of praise in his voice.
Maxwell swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Where am I? I suddenly woke up here after being kidnapped.”
“This is A.E.G.I.S’s Beta Facility,” Frank explained cheerfully. “The agents kidnap the homeless and experiment on them. Ninety-five percent of the test subjects turn into horrific monsters, similar to an Awakened experiencing madness. However, the five percent who survive become elite soldiers with the capabilities of whatever their DNA was fused with.”
“How can you say all of that with such a happy face?” Maxwell questioned, his eyes filled with fear and disbelief.
“I don't know what you’re talking about. I’m always like this,” Frank replied, his smile never faltering. “I think you need to be cheered up a bit. How about you come to my office with me? We can finish the tour on the way there,” he suggested with a calming smile.
Maxwell didn't respond but chose to follow him, hoping to learn more about the facility and perhaps find a way to escape. They walked through the labyrinthine corridors, Frank pointing out various locations along the way. They passed by a cafeteria, where the food appeared subpar.
“Sadly, our funding isn't as great as the Alpha Facility's, so budget cuts had to be made somewhere, and the food was one of the places to get cut,” Frank commented, still cheerful.
As they continued, they arrived at a laboratory filled with advanced scientific equipment. Researchers in white coats moved between stations, conducting experiments and analyzing data. The sterile environment was a stark contrast to the brutal training areas and the dreary cafeteria.
“This is where we conduct our experiments and monitor the progress of our subjects,” Frank said, his tone still unnervingly cheerful. “The scientists here are some of the best in their field, dedicated to unlocking the full potential of our meta-humans, should you hit a wall in your strength we’ll add a bit more to your DNA”
Maxwell's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as he followed Frank. Each new location revealed more about the sinister operations of the Beta Facility, and he knew he had to find a way to escape before he became another one of their experiments.
“This is my office, please take a seat,” Frank said, gesturing to the lone intact chair.
The office was in complete disarray. The computer was shattered, with a brick lodged into its monitor, rendering it useless. Every chair, save for one, had its legs broken, making them unusable. The carpet was torn up, revealing patches of bare concrete underneath. Broken glass was scattered across parts of the floor, reflecting the dim light from the single, flickering fluorescent bulb overhead. The walls were covered in graffiti of various colors and handwriting, each message more hostile than the last. Words like “Die, Frank, Die” and “You’re a monster” were scrawled everywhere, a testament to the contempt held for Frank by others in the facility.
Maxwell hesitated for a moment, taking in the chaotic scene before him. He gingerly stepped over the broken glass and torn carpet, making his way to the solitary chair that Frank had indicated. As he sat down, he felt the weight of the room's oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him. The stark contrast between Frank's unnervingly cheerful demeanor and the violent hatred etched onto the surrounding walls was deeply unsettling.
Despite the disarray, one corner of the room stood out in stark contrast. A pristine dog bed lay there, surrounded by clean walls, untouched by the vandalism that marred the rest of the space. The area seemed almost sacred, a small oasis of calm amidst the chaos. Not a single hateful word or mark of damage encroached upon it, making it clear that this spot held significant meaning for Frank. Maxwell couldn’t help but be curious about the story behind this peculiar detail.
Frank, seemingly oblivious to the hostile environment, took a seat across from Maxwell on a stack of old books. “I know it doesn't look like much, but it’s home,” he said with a disarming smile. Maxwell couldn't help but feel a mix of pity and confusion. How could Frank remain so upbeat in the face of such animosity? He wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he focused on the immediate concern, understanding more about this facility and figuring out a way to escape.
Frank noticed Maxwell’s gaze lingering on the dog bed, and his smile softened, a hint of genuine emotion breaking through his eerie cheerfulness. “That’s where my dog sleeps. His name is Bjorn Jr. He was named after the previous owner of this facility. He was truly a great man, much more fit to run this place than me,” Frank said, his face momentarily losing its forced cheerfulness.
“What happened to the previous owner?” Maxwell asked, curiosity piqued.
“It happened a year before I became involved in A.E.G.I.S. He died during the raid against the Sin of Envy, Invidia, which was six years ago. Many of us refer to it as A.E.G.I.S.’s greatest mistake,” Frank said calmly, the mention of the event carrying a weight that pierced through his usual demeanor.
“Can you tell me more about that event?” Maxwell asked, the term “Sin” reminding him of what Nihil had called him.
“The leader of A.E.G.I.S. is obsessed with killing the Seven Deadly Sins. For what reason, he refuses to tell any of us. He first took over the organization after single-handedly killing the Sin of Pride, Superbia. That was back in 1922. Awakened have a much longer lifespan; nobody knows how old we can get since we usually die in combat. After killing Superbia, he drastically reformed the organization. Things were going perfectly until the Invidia raid. We lost many powerful Awakened, which drastically weakened A.E.G.I.S.’s standing in the world. Half of the organization's elite council was killed as well. Bjorn was a member of that council, the previous eleven o’clock chair. The damage he did to Invidia was drastically more than everyone else, except for the Dragon Slayer, Eliza. However, mid-fight he disappeared, assumed to have been killed by one of the numerous attacks from Invidia. However, his body was never found. After that raid, many of the surviving Awakened lost faith in Alexander’s leadership and chose to leave. That was six years ago, and we still haven't fully recovered from the drastic losses,” Frank explained, his tone still carrying the same cheeriness.
Maxwell absorbed the information, his mind racing. The tale of Bjorn and the catastrophic raid painted a grim picture of the organization's recent history. He felt a strange mix of fear and determination. His thoughts returned to the letter from Nihil, the cryptic warnings, and his uncertain fate. The more he learned, the more questions arose. Who was this Alexander? Why was he so intent on destroying the Sins? And what did it mean for Maxwell, now labeled as the Sin of Greed? The weight of these revelations pressed heavily on him, adding urgency to his need to understand and escape this place.
“Oh not my depression story seems to have worsened your mood, let me go get Bjorn Jr. he always cheers everyone, due to his name his bed is the one spot of this room nobody dares to vandalize,” Frank cheerfully said.
Frank pulled out a special whistle and blew it, the high-pitched sound barely audible to Maxwell. Moments later, a golden blur streaked into the room, resolving into a fluffy golden retriever with bright blue eyes. The dog skidded to a halt beside Frank, his tail wagging furiously, exuding an air of boundless joy. Despite the apparent emptiness behind those bright blue eyes, there was an undeniable charm in his unthinking exuberance.
The golden retriever, Bjorn Jr., sported a red bandanna with white spots around his neck, partially covering a collar that jingled with every enthusiastic movement. His fur was impossibly soft and well-kept, a stark contrast to the disarray of the room. Bjorn Jr.’s eyes sparkled with a kind of pure, innocent happiness that seemed almost otherworldly in such a grim setting.
“Meet Bjorn Jr.,” Frank said, his eerie smile softening into something almost genuine as he petted the dog. “Named after a great man, and the best companion I could ask for. He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” Frank’s affection for the dog was evident, and for a moment, the room’s oppressive atmosphere lifted, replaced by the simple, undeniable joy that only a dog could bring.
Maxwell couldn't help but smile at the sight. The golden retriever’s presence was a stark reminder of normalcy and innocence, a brief respite from the dark, twisted world he had found himself in. As Bjorn Jr. leaned into Frank’s touch, the room felt a little less like a prison and a little more like a sanctuary, even if only for a fleeting moment.
As Frank lavished attention on Bjorn Jr., scratching behind his ears and cooing softly, Maxwell seized the opportunity. His heart raced as he carefully reached into Frank’s pocket, praying the man wouldn’t notice the intrusion. The golden retriever’s joyful presence seemed to mask the tension, his wagging tail and delighted pants creating an atmosphere of innocence and distraction.
Maxwell’s fingers brushed against the key card, and he carefully extracted it, his movements slow and deliberate. Frank remained blissfully unaware, entirely focused on his furry companion. Maxwell slipped the card into his own pocket, his pulse steadying slightly as the immediate danger passed. To avoid arousing suspicion, he knelt down and began to pet Bjorn Jr. himself, the dog's soft fur and enthusiastic response providing an unexpected sense of comfort.
As Maxwell ran his fingers through Bjorn Jr.'s luxurious coat, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. The golden retriever's innocent eyes and unreserved affection made it easy to forget, if only for a moment, the grim reality of his situation. Guilt pricked at him for using such an adorable dog as a distraction, but the stakes were too high for second thoughts.
Bjorn Jr. leaned into Maxwell's touch, his warm, soft fur a soothing balm against the chaos of the world around them. Maxwell found himself smiling despite the tension, his worries momentarily melting away under the dog’s unrelenting charm. The golden retriever’s presence was a small beacon of light in the otherwise dark and twisted facility, and Maxwell couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the deception, even as he resolved to use the key card to escape.
After several minutes of petting the good boy, Maxwell stood up, and said, “Thank you for the tour and for letting me pet your dog, I should head back to my dorm room,” hoping Frank wouldn't notice what had been stolen.
“Alright, if you’re ever feeling sad or just want to visit Bjorn Jr., feel free to stop by my office,” Frank replied, his smile seeming genuine for once.
Maxwell left the office, his heartbeat pounding as he took each step. He closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. With the key card securely in his pocket, he began to quickly plan his escape attempt, envisioning the paths he might take and the obstacles he might encounter. He knew that timing would be crucial, and that he would need to move swiftly and quietly to avoid detection.
Meanwhile, back in the office, Frank got down on his knee to continue petting Bjorn Jr. He chuckled softly, his usual eerie cheerfulness tempered with a hint of amusement. “Aww, it's adorable that he thinks he tricked me, isn't it, buddy?” Frank said happily, scratching behind the dog's ears. Bjorn Jr. wagged his tail enthusiastically, oblivious to the layers of deception and intrigue surrounding him.